


Laughing suits you

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Bad Weather, Community: section7mfu, Gen, Laughter, Missions Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 12:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: cloud, pinkNapoleon takes charge of April and Mark on a mission, while injured Illya waits ... and waits





	Laughing suits you

**Laughing suits you**

Napoleon was laughing – very quietly – to himself.

There was no way anyone could describe his partner as a frivolous man – quite rightly, he took the job extremely seriously. He didn’t tell jokes, but if he pulled your leg it was subtle and infuriating. He had a very sweet smile when he cared to use it and though he rarely laughed, he had been known to do so after surviving a particularly spectacular explosion, or when his partner was caught out in some indignity.

Just now, he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, frowning, his one good foot tapping, waiting impatiently for two fellow agents – two people he regarded as entirely frivolous and lacking in any kind of serious approach.

The door opened and April, wearing a silver minidress and high-heeled boots, bounded in with arms outstretched crying, “Darlings! Are we late?” which sent Napoleon into silent stitches at his partner’s expression. Mark followed her in a slightly more dignified fashion, and for that matter in slightly more suitable attire.

In no way abashed by the Russian cold shoulder, April planted smacking kisses either side of his mouth before he could react and flounced over to embrace Napoleon who was more than willing to respond in kind.

“Now, now, children,” said Mark, mock seriously, “we have business to attend to.” The glare he received from Illya could have frozen the Arctic ocean in summer, but he failed to notice it.

Illya straightened and limped to the table where the files were lying open. Casting mischievous glances at each other, April and Mark joined him. Napoleon came to stand on Illya’s other side, the better to observe the fun.

“It’s a perfectly straightforward stake-out,” said Illya, passing over maps and plans. He looked April up and down, “I take it you’ll change into something more appropriate before you go?”

“Oh, why?”

Her broad smile was an affront and Illya, affronted, said, “Because you look more like a Christmas tree ornament than an UNCLE agent.” He turned to Mark, “Here’s the list of equipment you’ll need. You can get it while she’s changing.”

“Oops, love, I think we’re in the doghouse,” said Mark as they left, but Illya ignored him and turned instead to Napoleon. “Those two are bringing UNCLE into disrepute with their stupid attitude, Napoleon. I hope you’ll be able to keep them under some sort of control.”

Napoleon smiled at him and said, “Probably better than you, my friend. Don’t worry – we’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“I shall wait for you here.”

“What do you fancy – Chinese, Italian, or burger and fries?”

“Let’s decide when you get back. Be careful, Napoleon.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“No.”

Napoleon laughed outright and clapped his friend on the shoulder. When he had gone, Illya sat down with a grunt. His healing leg ached, his head ached, his ribs hurt and his bad mood was only slightly lifted by the promise of a meal. But it was a beautiful afternoon, he would sit out on the roof and prepare for an upcoming operation by practising his Swedish in peace.

Some hours later, nearly sunset, the evening light was changing; a single pink cloud was fading to a bruise against an opal sky. Illya looked at his watch and got up stiffly.

There had been no communication from his fellow agents, not even Napoleon. He checked with reception, there had been no call in from any of them. This wasn’t unusual but nevertheless he paced the office painfully until his leg gave out and he had to sit down.

In the end he went to the commissary for something to eat and returned to an empty office to wait and eventually fell asleep, his head on his arms, behind a pile of books and files.

oo000oo

At half-past two in the morning, the door swished open and three very bedraggled agents limped in. Even Napoleon’s hair was a mess. April’s was a tangle of mud and brambles, her clothes ripped and soaking wet. Mark was spattered with mud from head to foot and he appeared to have been run over by a lawnmower.

“Well, isn’t it good to be home,” said Napoleon, dumping equipment on his desk. “We all look like the Tar baby. Who’s for a shower?”

“We could share,” said April, “then we won’t mess up three cubicles.”

“Not bloody likely,” said Mark, “and anyway, we’ve messed up a perfectly good corridor already.”

“And all for nothing. Who’d have thought that criminals wouldn’t come out in bad weather?”

“ _I_ don’t like bad weather either,” said April.

“Nor me,” said Mark, “and why did we have to find a briar patch to sit in, Brer Fox?”

“Do you know you’ve torn the seat of your pants?” said April, turning her partner and critically examining his rear.

“You haven’t seen your own,” said Napoleon.

Illya rose silently from behind the pile of books and papers holding his camera. They all turned and were caught in the sudden flash as he took a photograph. Then, as he saw them in their full, unsightly and indeed unseemly, glory, he burst out laughing.

They stared at him in amazement. Napoleon had, of course, seen him laugh occasionally but neither of the others had, so, for April and her partner at least, it was as shocking as if the pope had burst into a rendition of “Please, please me” at the high point of the mass.

April watched him from under long eyelashes. “Darling, you ought to do that more often,” she said, “it suits you.”

**ooo0000ooo**


End file.
